Rensselaer Semi-Weekly Republican, Volume 20, Number 22, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 18 November 1898 — A PATAL WEDDING. [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

A PATAL WEDDING.

By Lottie Braham.

CHAPTER XII. , Barbara stood near the hearth in the full light of the fire, the diamonds on her white fingers catching and reflecting it; •he wore a quaint flowing gown of brocaded silk, with cascades of lace falling from her throat to her feet, and her dark, Itair was piled up on her head in a massire coil. She looked very charming with her dreamy eyes fixed musingly on the fire; she was thinking of the dead cousin in whose place she stood; his memory had always a singular fascination for her, and, although her uncle never spoke of him to her, dhe and Mrs. Fairfax often spoke of him, and Barbara had thought of him often. “Where is Lady Rose?” Lord Keith asked, coming back from replacing his cup on the silver tray. “What has become of her?” “She is interviewing a stage manager,” Barbara replied, arousing herself with a little start and smiling. “A stage manager!” echoed Lady Morris. “Why?” “Lady Rose has one ambition,” Mr. Bentley said, coming up to the hearth and leaning over his wife’s chair. “She Wishes to be known as the best actress in England off the boards. Fortunately for herself, her wealth is almost unlimited; unfortunately she is free to spend it as she likes. She has had a theater built at Parley Hall, and now she is busy preparing for the theatricals she is going to have. Miss Hatton, you are the jeune premiere, •re you not?” “I really don’t know. I have promised to take a part in the play; but I have no intention. of taking a prominent one,” Barbara rejoined negligently, as she went hack to the low plush-covered chair on which she had been sitting. “What is the play to be?” asked Lady Morris. “Oh, that is not yet arranged,” replied Mr. Bentley, “unless Lady Rose and the •tage manager whom she is interviewing have decided jukt how.” “Poor Lady Rose!” Mrs. Bentley said, smiling and shrugging her shapely shoulders. “Her difficulties have been manifold, and some of them apparently insurmountable.” “How is that?” Sir John asked, with a touch of cynicism. “Money surmounts all difficulties.” “Ah, but this is one which even money cannot surmount!” said Mrs. Bentley merrily. “What is it?” “The want of men,” said Mrs. Bentley, •olemnly. “They can’t or won’t act. It Is no laughing matter,” she added gayly, with a pretty imitation of Lady Rose’s Slaintive manner. “The extraordinary ick of histrionic power among the men •f our world is lamentable!” “Surely Lord Keith will act!” Blanche Herrick put in at this juncture; she had been sapping her tea and listening to the conversation with her eyes fixed .on the fire. “Barbara, your influence must be paramount just now; exercise it on Lady Bose’s behalf.” “Unfortunately I can fill only one role, Miss Herrick,” said Lord Keith, coolly, glancing over at her. “Perhaps the hero of the fire the other Bight might be induced to give his assistance,” suggested Mrs. Bentley. “Perhaps he might,” Blanche said, quietly. "Barbara, is your influence over him paramount?” Barbara raised her long dark lashes languidly. “Over whom?” she asked negligently. “Mr. Robson —that was his name, I think,” Blanche answered. “He must have quite recovered from the injuries which prevented him from acting the other night. Have you heard how he is, Barbara?” “No,” replied Barbara. “Uncle Norman sent to inquire, I believe; but I did not ask what reply the messenger brought.” “I called; but Mr. Robson was not well enough to see me,” Lord Keith observed. “I fear he was somewhat severely hurt, which I' cannot help regretting, as 1 should have liked to shake hands with him.” “You may have that pleasure when he is better,” put in Lady Morris, looking approvingly at the young man. “But he liaa left Stourton,” interposed Mr. Bentley. “Ah!” ekejaitned Barbara, leaning forward eagerly, forgetful for a moment of everything save her Interest in the question and the answer. “Has he left Stourton ?” “Yes; the company left yesterday, I understand. Well, it is no loss to Stourton; but for that very handsome man who played Beauseant in ‘The Lady of Lyons,’ the performance the other evening would have been a failure,” remarked Mr. Bcntr ipy. “It was a poor entertainment,” Lord Keith said carelessly. “But the house was full; so the beneficiare must have been satisfied, Barbara,” ho added, his voice softening ns be addressed h«r and his eyes growing very tender as they rested on her beautiful, eager face. “And Barbara must have felt quite royal,” Blanche Herrick put In, with a smile. “S?he was the cynosure of all eyes. She ought to have bowed.” “Nonsense, Blanche!” said Bnrbara, laughingly, but with a quick contraction of the brow. “It is true,” Blanche rejoined. “There was one man in the stalls who never took his eyes off yon. I noticed him particularly.” “How flattering for him!” Mrs. Bentley remarked, screwing up her pretty dark eyes as she looked over at Blanche, who was toying with the floss silks of her work. “He was pale and worn looking, but with eye* just like those in Lady Els dale’s portrait, the first Lady Eltdale, 1 ■ewr

A audden gleam of recognition flashed into Barbara’s dark eyes. “Ah, that is whom he is like!” sihe said, involuntarily; then, as her guests glanced at her in surprise, she grew very pale. “You did not notice him, then!” Miss Herrick said slowly, raising her eyes from the tangle of silks upon her knee, and looking significantly at Barbara. “Why, how pale you are, Barbara! Was it an old admirer who has followed you from Belgravia?” Before Barbara could answer, her intense embarrassment was relieved by the entrance of Lady Rose, followed by Mr. Sinelair, whose appearance among Lord Elsdale’s guests was of rare occurrence, although, being a man of good family and lineage, he was always welcome at the castle. Lady Rose came up to the fire, talking volubly, and fanning herself with a most graceful air of exhaustion as she sank into a low chair near Barbara’s. “My dear Barbara, if you love me, give ,me a cup of tea!” she exclaimed. “Mr. Sinclair, too, must be dying for one. As for me, lam perfectly exhausted. Such a charming man, my dear—perfect style, handsome as a Greek god, and a man of family, too! He is charming, and he is Coming to Darley on the twenty-fourth to take all the responsibility of the stage arrangements. Between him and Mr. Sinclair, I feel as if my insurmountable difficulties had all melted away.” “And is he to provide you with male performers?” inquired Lady Morris. “Oh, no! But he will act himself, if necessary; of course he is a gentleman—a baronet’s second son. I believe there are numbers of well-born men on the stage now; and he is handsome enough to make up foY the want of birth if necessary.” “What did you say his name was?” asked Mrs. Bentley, as the dressing bell pealed out, echoing noisily. Barbara found herself listening eagerly for the answer; but, when it came, the name was unknown to her. “His name,” Lady Rose replied, as she took her fan from the young officer and rose—“his name is Walter Bryant, and he is Sir Anthony Bryant's second son, at your service.” CHAPTER XIII. Darley Hall was situated' about two miles from Arlington, a prosperous country town about an hour by rail from Stourton. so that there was no tedious railway journey to weary or depress Miss Hatton; and during the Short transit she was both gracious and grateful, and so charming that Mr. Sinclair allowed his reserve to thaw, and, somewhat to Barbara’s surprise, talked well and brilliantly, giving evidence not only of much culture, but of poetical feeling that she had never supposed the grave, cold y4ung man to possess. Sitting opposite to her in the railway carriage as they sped swiftly through the wintry landscape of bare, leafless trees and brown fields, he let hia eyes dwell admiringly upon her beauty. The young secretary loved her with a love which was his doom. They had left Elsdale early in the afternoon; but the days were short, and the lamps were gleaming in the station when they reached Arlington, and the lights of the waiting carriage shone in the dusk outside. When they reached Darley Hall, Lady Rose came out to the haff to greet her guests. “What a delightful little room!” Barbara exclaimed, as they passed in under the portiere, and at the words a gentleman who was sitting at a writing table rose and bowed, while a lady in a low chair by the hearth turned her head slowly, and, rising, came forward with outstretched hand. “I preceded you by am hour,” Blanche Herrick said, in low, sweet tones. “Is it not very cold?” She was still wearing her cloth traveling dress, and her golden hair was slightly disordered, Barbara saw, as she came up to the hearth, and feeling just a little bit dazzled in the bright light of the boudoir, which, with its dainty satin hangings and inlaid furniture and Sevres ornaments, was the only really modern room in Lady Rose’s charming old mansion, and was its mistress’ favorite sitting room. There was tea on a little Japanese table by the hearth, and a vase filled with violets stood close by. Lady Rose began to pour out tea, the gems on her fingers twinkling like stars in the fire and lamplight. “Barbara, ynu have heard and seen Mr. Bryant,” she said, in her earelpss manner, “but I think you have not met Mr. Bryant—Miss Hntfon, Mr. Sinclair.” Barbara inclined her pretty head, without raising her eyes—not in discourtesy, but in indifference. Mr. Bryant bowed low, with much but as he came forward nearer the nearth there was a sudden angry flash in his blue eyes which showed that he resented the carelessness of her manner. He was a singularly handsome man in the prime of life; his features were j>*rfectly regular, his eyes blue, his hair was golden, and, besidea his beauty, which waa great, he had a personal distinction which was even more remarkable than his good looks. As he came up to the circle round the fire, he was looking rather Intently at Barbara, as she stood in her sealskin and sables, sipping her ten. She herself was heedless of his scrutiny; but Mr. Sinclair saw it, and his eyebrows met in a Midden angry frown which faded almost immediately. “I fear you found H cold traveling,” Mr. Bryant remarked, In u quiet, deferential toue. “The weather is rather severe for die season.” Something In his tolce or tone made Barbara look at him. As she did so, she saw in a second that the man before her was he whom she had encountered when She left Murk Robson’s lodgings three weeks before, and whom she had not recognized on the stnge. As dhe met his gaze, fixed upon her not rudely, but with a significance visible only to herself, the color died out of her face and she grew pale to her lipa. Leaning back in her low chair, with half do«ing eyes staring at the fire, Bar l barm sipped her tea while the conversation, in which Mr. Bryant's musical voice took no small part, went on round the hearth. “Yon have not told me what play you •re going to act, after all,*’ she said pres-

ently; and hardly has she utterev. the words when she saw in their astonished glances that she had betrayed her absence of mind. “My dear Barbara, where have your thoughts been?” Lady Rose exclaimed laughingly. “We have been.talking of nothing else! We are going to play, ‘New Men and Okl Acres,’ and you are to play Lillian Vavasour.” Barbara laughed slightly. “And in default of Lord Keith, whom I had fixed upon for Brown, Maurice Stoddard has volunteered for the part.” “It is a very pleasant role,” Mr. Bryant remarked. “I have seen it played admirably by indifferent actors; even Robson, whom you honored by your interest, Miss Hatton, played it with great effect for some months.” “Robaon! Who is he?- Oh, I remember! The hero of the Stourton fire,” said Lady Rose. “You kuow him, Mr. Bryant?” “I know him. We were members of the same company until I gave up my engagement for that which I have at present the honor and pleasure of filling.” “So braye a man ought to be a man of noble life,” remarked Mr. Sinelair. “Ah, but Robspn is not! I am afraid we have none of us very white fleeces; but he is one of the blackest sheep,” Bryant rejoined, carelessly, then added: “Many men are courageous, Lady Rose, who have no claim to any other virtue; it is a question of physical, by no means of moral, superiority. Robson is a worthless fellow in every way, and undeserving of the honor you mention.” Raising her eyes in mute protest and indignation, Barbara met his fixed upon her. She grew very pale, and her lips quivered slightly, as she raised her muff and rested her cheek against it caressingly. She felt mean and shamed and base to think that sh% stood there silent when he was falsely traduced —she, who knew the falsehood of this man’s assertions — she, who owed him whom he condemned so vast a debt! Words of indignant and passionate denial rose to her lips, but died there; she dared not utter them. What interest could he have for her in their eyes? CHAPTER XIV. One of the principal features of Lady Rose’s charming, old-fashioned mansion was a long gallery which ran along the center front of the hall. At either end of this gallery, which went by the name of “my lady’s corridor,” were antechambers leading into lesser passages on to which opened suites of apartments reserved for guests, while on the side facing the windows were several other doors leading into some of the state apartments. At dusk “my lady’s corridor” was illuminated by quaint antique brass lamps swinging from the ceiling, and these were all burning and shed a pleasant mellow glow when Barham Hatton came out of one of the stately suites of rooms which faced the stained windows. As Lord Elsdale’s niece and the future Lady Keith, she had been allotted apartments reserved for guests to whom Darley wished to pay exceeding homage; and this fact, slight but significant, was noticed by Walter Bryant os he stood in the recess of one of the stained windows, and a smile broke over his face. He watched her as she stood for a moment on the threshold of her room, daintily pulling on her gloves, and into his cold blue eyes came a look of almost wondering admiration. As she drew near the window by which Mr. Bryant stood, he advanced and met her as she came. She was already so pale that no increase of pallor could be remarked, but the keen eyes resting on her saw that her lips quivered slightly. She shopped at once, iooking at him steadily. “You were waiting for me?” she questioned carelessly. He seated himself near her with the easy grace and manner of a man accustomed to move in good society. The color came suddenly into her face, then faded again almost immediately, yet not so quickly but that he saw it come and go. “Will you be so good ns to initiate me into the difficulties of niy part in thia comedy?” she said hurriedly. “There is plenty of time,” he responded easily. “We are wasting time,” she said haughtily. She moved a few steps away from him; he laid his hand upon the long white glove which reached to her elbow. With a start she shook it off and turned to him, her eyes flashing with indignant scorn. “How dure you?” she exclaimed passionately. “How dare you?” *“I dare more than that,”he replied, with a little low laugh which sounded cruel and scornful. “For your sake. Miss Hatton, do not make an enemy of me.” “You threaten me, sir!” Barl»ara cried, with i«le lips and flashing eyes. “I threaten you? Heaven forbid!” he replied, with a smile. “I merely entreat you to be seated and to hear me.” “You can have nothing to suy to me,” she murmured, pale to her lips now in her annoyance, which was not unminglcd with terror. “Pardon me, I have much to say to you.” For a moment she hesitated; and then in silence she moved back to the recess, and sank down heavily upon the cushions of the window seat. He followed, and resumed lua old seat beside her. “That is better," he went on coolly, again taking her fan from her trembling fingers. “Now we can discuss the position aj our ease.” She was breathing quickly, and there was now a vividly red spot on either cheek; her lips were quivering, hut she looked at him with the old scoru and defiance. “This la not the first time we have met," he began, negligently toying with her fan. “You remember our first meeting perhaps? Yes, I see you do,” he added tranquilly ns her long lashes drooped over the telltale eyes. “But, although that was the first time I had the honor of speaking to you, I had seen you before.” “I am not invisible,” the girl said, with sudden petulance. He smiled at the words. “Fortunately not,”’be returned, with a meaning look at her full of adtnirntio'n. "That would be a calamity for the world in general—for us in particular. Miss Hatton must be quite well accustomed to admiration, she must have been much admired CTen before she nttnined her present position. When I saw her first,” he continued softly, “she wns not clad in silk attire; but she was not the leas lovely for that.” He p'nused for a moment, then went on, leaning slightly forward, with his eyes fixed on the dainty fan with its delicate carvings. "It was • summer day, and the scene, U

not so costly as this, was equally charming and picturesque—a pretty Irene ■ordfashioned room with a shining dark floor and wicker chairs and table, and a great bowl of roses, among which strayed the fingers of a girl who stood near the table on which it was placed. r Ah, you are beginning to recognize the picture, are you not? Mrs. Clavering is an old acquaintance of mine, and, eager as I was to see her, I could not help stopping for a moment to admire the pretty tableau.”. The hectic spots had died out of the girl’s face, and she was very pale now as she leaned back against the window; but she said nothing, and he went on, still talking softly, with his eyes upon the fan. "A couple of years afterward I saw the same girl at a railway station, beautiful as ever, but daintily dressed, and attended by servants of every grade, so that for a moment I did not recognize her; but it was only for a moment, though, for her face is one not easily forgotten. A few weeks later I saw her again, richly dressed, but unattended, coming out of a shabby house, where she might have been paying a visit of charity. I saw her again a few days later, with pearls about her throat, the center of a party of great people at Stourton Theater, when we were playing ‘The Lady of Lyons.’ ” He put her fan back upon her lap, and, rising, leaned against the heavy carved frame and looked down at her as he continued: “A strauge play that ‘Lady of Lyons,’ ” he said musingly. “I wonder how Pauline felt when she found herself in the gardener's cottage? It is so difficult to bear reverses well, is it not? You, for instance, Miss Hatton, would not like to come down from your high estate aud return to comparative poverty and obscurity.” A faint wondering gleam of surprise came into her eyes, and a contemptuous smile crossed her face. Jlc saw them, and laughed. ‘‘You think it impossible,” ho said, with a sneer. “Well, perhaps it is. It depends a good deal upon yourself.” ' (To be continued.)